


i kinda want u(ber)

by vsyubs



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Slice of Life, author doesn't actually know how ubereats works but Oh Well, uhhhh jeon's an ubereats guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-04 15:46:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11558367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vsyubs/pseuds/vsyubs
Summary: Cute delivery guys apparently really do exist.





	i kinda want u(ber)

**Author's Note:**

> loosely inspired by [this](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DFEbuwJVwAA20gn.jpg)  
> disclaimer: i dont know how ubereats works

It’s eight fifty-three p.m and Minghao wants to gently place his head into a toilet bowl. He’s not usually a dramatic person, but this assignment is puncturing holes in his soul and sucking it out of his flesh through a straw. He has about eight tabs of articles and videos and podcasts about creativity or whatever open and he’s concentrating on approximately zero of them, instead staring blankly at a ninth tab opened to Google, chewing on his fingernails, for the past seven minutes. Never mind that it’s due in two days. Never mind that it’s the first assignment of his second semester as a first year media student, not that that matters a lick, because death is imminent anyway. Never mind anything. 

“Minghao,” his housemate Seungkwan calls from the couch. 

“Hn.”

“I… I need to feel alive again.”

“Hnh.” Minghao manages to rip off a piece of nail with his teeth clean and without pain and feels mildly successful.

“How much have you done?” Seungkwan flips over onto his stomach, head drooping from the arm rest. He is also trying and failing to do his work. It’s econ-related. Ugly stuff. “Tell me you’re not halfway done, please, even if it’s a lie.”

“I’m about to kill myself,” Minghao says.

“Oh thank God.”

Under normal circumstances, Minghao would throw a pillow or something at him, but right now he commiserates. It’s way less mental effort than emoting. Who does that anymore? Actors don’t even emote for real. He needs grape juice. 

“I’ll be right back,” he mumbles, shooting up from his seat and walking into the kitchen. The fridge door opens in his grip, and fish eyes glaze over the contents. A can of Spam (opened), another can of Spam (unopened – why are these even in the fridge), a bottle of ketchup (why is _that_ in the fridge)... 

There’s a moment of pin-drop silence. And then, a cracked, unused voice from a dry throat, bordering on manic: “Where’s the grape juice?” Minghao stands up, wobbling a little, closing the fridge. His world is crumbling. “Seungkwannie, where’s the grape juice –”

“I finished it all yesterday!” Seungkwan’s voice comes. “I was having a crisis!”

Minghao stumbles back into the living room. He feels like he could cry. “What?”

“I was having a crisis,” Seungkwan whines, covering the bottom half of his face with a textbook. “One of my extended papers was due last week and I completely forgot about it until last night. I had to.”

Minghao lets his forehead fall onto the wall next to him. What a nice wall. 

“I’m sorry,” Seungkwan says.

“It’s fine.”

“Clearly it isn’t,” he says, sounding kind of disgusted.

“It’s okay.”

“Oh my God, you’re doing that _thing_ ,” he snaps. “Fuckin’ Ubereat grape juice or something, stop moping, you’re getting me down.” 

Minghao lifts his head. Whispers, “Oh.” 

Ten minutes later he has placed an order of apple juice (next best thing) and two large fries from the nearest fast food restaurant, as well as an apple pie for Seungkwan.

“It’s not grape,” Minghao sighs, settling in on the single couch, “but it works.”

“Crazy how you look so much happier now than before.”

One episode of Modern Family on Seungkwan’s laptop later, Minghao gets a call from an unknown number, which he ignores and then stares at for a good minute. Seungkwan takes a peep.

“Text it,” he says.

Minghao looks at him funny. “No! What if it’s some scammer? Or… dude, remember the foot fetishist?” 

“Well, you’ll never find out if you don’t text it.”

So Minghao does.

who is this  
  
Hello your ubereats order is here  
  


Minghao bolts up from his seat.

“Is it the foot fetishist?!” Seungkwan asks.

coming! are you at the front door  
  
No I’m on top of the building I just landed my helicopter  
  


Minghao frowns.

Yes I'm at the front door  
  


He shakes his head, walking past Seungkwan’s bedroom towards the front door. Ubereats Guy has a mouth. Pocketing his phone, he opens the door wide.

“Evening.”

Apparently, he has a nice voice, too. Way deeper and fuller than Minghao's own high-pitched, nasally tone. (He kind of has a complex over it.) It takes Minghao a second.

“Hi.”

Ubereats Guy looks down at his phone. “Xu Minghao?” he says, voice lifting at the end, looking back up at Minghao. Oh. _And_ a nice face. Straight black hair, sharp nose. Sharp eyes, too, festering with a hint of boredom that infects everyone, and Minghao relates, but then he starts thinking of how good-looking he is despite the deadness, and immediately stops relating. 

“Yup.”

Ubereats Guy hands him a plastic bag. “One apple juice, two large fries, one apple pie.”

“Yep.” Minghao looks through the contents briefly, then up at Ubereats Guy. “Thanks.”

“Enjoy.” Ubereats Guy steps back, giving him a close-lipped – thing. Minghao wouldn’t say it’s a smile. He closes the door, watching Ubereats Guy swing a long leg over his motorcycle and strap his helmet on through the small window. He has a really nice nose. He snaps out of his trance and returns to the living room, a little dazed. 

And here he thought cute delivery guys were myths.

  


  


The next time Minghao orders from Ubereats, it’s because he’s too lazy to go out. He still hasn’t gotten a word into his assignment, but it’s fine. Pizza first, think later. As it happens, it was Seungkwan who gave him the ingenious idea of texting the same Ubereats guy. 

“It’s like having a lackey!” he said, clapping excitedly.

“You’re kinda scary, Seungkwan,” Minghao said. 

About forty minutes later, after much regret over watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine instead of getting started on his work, Minghao gets a text.

Xu Minghao?  
yes  
  
I'm at the front door  
  
yep be right there  


As it turns out, Ubereats Guy looks as dead and handsome and real as he did the last time Minghao saw him. No mythical intervention here. Tonight he has a white cap on.

“Bad hair day?” Minghao asks as he takes the food, flushing when Ubereats Guy blinks at him blankly.

But then –

– he smiles.

A brief upwards pull of the lips, not enough to show teeth, but it reaches his eyes, disappearing as quick as it had come. Minghao’s mouth inadvertently falls open a little. 

“Don’t ever sleep with wet hair.” He is looking at Minghao very, very seriously. Maybe Minghao’s just projecting or hungry, but the deadness of his gaze seems to be gone.

Minghao closes his mouth. “I got told doing that gives you headaches.”

“Who told you that? Wait, no – lemme guess. Your mom, or grandma, or any female relative, back when you were young?”

“Mom.”

“Aha.” Ubereats Guy smiles again, proudly. And there’s teeth this time, but, more crucially, an unusual scrunch of his nose. Minghao’s never seen a face work quite like that. “Moms.”

“Gotta love ‘em.”

He looks solemn all over again. “You really gotta.”

Minghao smiles a little, lifting the plastic bag. “Thanks for the food.” 

“Sure.” 

And then he’s gone again, leaving a deep voice and a nose scrunch to stick stubbornly in Minghao’s head. 

  


  


Front door  
yep  


Minghao’s already on the way, towel around his neck, fresh out the shower. He has clothes on, despite Seungkwan’s objection.

(“Dude, this is like the start of a porno.”

Minghao pushed his head through the neck of his t-shirt. “Exactly why I don’t wanna go out there shirtless, you weirdo.”

“You are missing the opportunity of a lifetime!”)

Minghao smiles at him when he takes the food, and hopes his hair doesn’t look too weird or flat. “Thanks.”

Ubereats Guy smiles back. “No problem.”

“You know, I should probably stop calling you Ubereats Guy in my head.” He leans against the doorframe, all casual and shit.

“You’ve been calling me that?”

“In my head.”

“That’s a problem,” Ubereats Guy says gravely. “Because my name’s Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo. Of course. He looks like a Wonwoo. Minghao thinks that’s the most perfect name for him. No other name would suffice. He can’t help but smile at that. “Now we’re even,” he says.

“So we are,” Ubereats Guy Wonwoo says. He brings his hands behind his back, falling silent momentarily. Minghao fiddles with the hem of his pajama t-shirt. He’s got 200 words out of 1000 in his assignment so far. “So, do you, like…” Wonwoo coughs into his fist all of a sudden. “Do you go out a lot?”

Minghao raises his head, frowning, and adjusts his position on the doorframe. “Why do you ask?”

“Just… genuine curiosity.” Wonwoo is undeterred by the eyebrow raise Minghao sends him. “Are you a homebody?”

Minghao doesn’t really know where this is going, but he’s enjoying the extra time spent chatting with Wonwoo anyway. When does he ever get to chat up cute guys these days? Everyone at uni is either too sad or too straight. He shrugs. “I’m just broke.” 

Wonwoo laughs. The nose scrunch, again, takes Minghao by surprise, and he begins to smile, too. “I think you just spoke for this entire generation,” Wonwoo says. “We should go out sometime. To a restaurant, or something.”

Minghao’s heart seizes up for a second. He stares at Wonwoo’s handsome face for what seems to be forever, trying to process everything. He’s sure he heard that right. It restarts, beating twice as fast as before. “Sure,” he says, blinking. “Yeah.” 

Wonwoo looks surprised, like he hadn’t expected him to agree. “Cool. Okay. I-I guess I’ll… text you, or call you.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Minghao feels like a lot of things right now. Floaty is one of them. And he’s pretty sure he’s blushing, judging by the heat on his face. 

“Alright,” Wonwoo says, somewhat relieved. “Okay, I should, um. Work beckons.” He starts slowly walking backwards towards his motorbike. 

“Alright,” Minghao says. Heart going thump-thump-thump. “Have fun with that.”

“I most likely won’t, but thanks.”

Minghao smiles. “Anytime.” 

Wonwoo gets onto his motorbike, starts up the engine. “See you around, Minghao.”

Minghao waves, watching him rumble off into the distance. He stands there for a couple seconds, Wonwoo’s words tumbling around in his head like clothes in a washing machine, then slaps his cheeks before pulling the door shut and turning around. 

“Hey.”

Minghao yells and jumps backwards. “Jesus Christ! What are you doing!”

Seungkwan chuckles darkly, smug smile on his face as he rubs his chin. “Rawr.”

“What the hell.”

Seungkwan slaps him on the shoulder. “That look on your face says ‘I’m about to get some’.”

Minghao rolls his eyes, squeezing past him. “It’s not like that,” he says.

“No?” Seungkwan trails close behind. 

“He just – we’re gonna hang out,” Minghao says. He puts the plastic bag of food down onto the coffee table and begins taking the contents out. “I think those are your truffle fries.” 

Seungkwan takes them, eyeing Minghao closely. “Hang out. Mhm. Where?”

Minghao shrugs. “Some restaurant. He said he’d call or text.” He looks up at Seungkwan, shaking his head. “I’m not counting on him to actually do that.”

Seungkwan grins. “But you’re hoping.”

Minghao leans back on the couch and takes a bite out of his burger in lieu of answering.

“This is cute,” Seungkwan declares. “You two are cute. I support this.”

  


  


The Red Bird sounds more like a name for a club or a bar, but it’s actually a cafe smushed right between a club and a bar, just ten minutes outside the city. Of course Wonwoo knows this place.

“So, this is The Red Bird,” Wonwoo says over the tinkling of the bell as he pushes through the door. He steps to the side and holds the door open for Minghao, who walks ahead gratefully, right into the warm smell of coffee and the cool underlying tinge of pine air freshener. “I just call it Redbird.” 

“Why take the ‘the’ out?” 

Wonwoo shrugs, leading the way in. “Flows better.”

“Agreed.”

It’s, well, a cafe. It’s cute and mostly wooden and very cozy, with little plants in glass bulbs hanging from the ceiling and placed in shelves, and fairy lights and framed black-and-white photos of cats and buildings and dainty women on walls. As far as cafes go, it’s nothing special or different, but it’s pretty, and Minghao likes pretty. 

Seated in front of him at a table for two, Wonwoo flashes him a small, close-lipped smile that’s kind of nervous around the edges. 

Speaking of pretty.

“Is this your first time here?” Wonwoo asks.

Minghao nods. “First time in this general area, actually.” 

That smile widens to something more playful. “So you _are_ a homebody.” 

“I’m broke!”

“It’s okay, I’m the same,” Wonwoo says. “When I’m not doing my Uber thing or at uni, I’m at home doing stuff for uni.” 

“What do you major in?” Minghao asks.

“Guess,” Wonwoo says. “I’ll guess yours, too.”

“Mm…” Minghao leans back in his chair, narrowing his eyes. He admires the way Wonwoo’s round glasses frame his angular face just right. “Accounting?”

Wonwoo snorts. “Unbelievable.”

“What?”

“You’re the sixth person to guess that. Do I look like an accounting guy? Really?”

He sounds so appalled despite his mostly straight face that Minghao lets out a small laugh. “No comment.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I think it’s the glasses, man.”

“The glasses?” Wonwoo pushes them up his nose. “What about them?”

“They just make you look so _serious_.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just my face in general.”

Minghao laughs louder. God, this guy is cute _and_ self-aware. How much luckier can Minghao get? “It’s a good look on you. The glasses, I mean. And your face.” He frowns, pursing his lips in disapproval at himself. He recollects himself, and tries again. “What I’m trying to say is that you look like you could pass for being an accountant.”

“That’s a roundabout way of saying that, but I respect it, and am flattered,” Wonwoo says, and Minghao looks away blushing. “Okay, so… we should order something.”

“Right, yeah, sure.” Minghao locates the menu on the edge of the table and wastes no time perusing it.

“I recommend the cheesecake,” Wonwoo says. “Or the pumpkin soup. But maybe it’s too warm for pumpkin soup.”

“I’ll take the cheesecake,” Minghao says, not wanting to make a fuss. “What are you having?”

“Pumpkin soup.” Wonwoo grins at him, and Minghao blinks before laughing and looking back down at the menu.

“Alright then.” He looks over the drink options, pursing his lips. “Ooh… tea or coffee, tea or coffee…”

“A happy dilemma,” Wonwoo says. “The chai latte is top-tier.”

“You know, I’ve never actually had chai latte before, so I’ll get that,” Minghao says, and Wonwoo’s eyes widen. “Yeah, I know, save it.”

“First time for everything.” Wonwoo shrugs. “I’ve never been on a rollercoaster.”

Now it’s Minghao’s turn to be surprised. “ _Ever_?” 

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Nope. I have a weak heart. Not an actual condition, but just… a weak heart.”

“That’s… wild.” 

“I think it’s very tame, but sure.”

Minghao snorts. 

They order their food and drinks and continue to chat some more while they wait, over the purl of acoustic music in the background. In that timespace Minghao learned that Wonwoo is a second-year doing a double major in Creative Writing and Media at a university half an hour away from where Minghao goes and Wonwoo guessed that Minghao is a Visual Design major. 

“Where’d you get _that_?” Minghao asked, baffled. 

“Thin air?” Wonwoo replied.

“I’m a Media major, actually.”

“Oh, really? That’s pretty cool.” 

It’s easy, this whole thing. Minghao was nervous out of his mind, but Wonwoo’s easygoing in a dorky way despite his clipped way of talking, with his dry jokes and face-altering smile, and it’s enough to settle Minghao’s buzz. The silences are neither bad nor drawn out, and Minghao is more than relieved to find that Wonwoo isn’t the type of person to force conversation out of the other just for the sake of conversing. Their food and drinks comes in a while later, and they immediately chow down. The cheesecake _is_ good. Minghao tells him that. 

“Told you,” Wonwoo says. 

“How’s the soup?” Minghao asks. “Warm enough for you?”

“Mmm.” Wonwoo makes a point of slurping noisily on a spoonful, which earns him a glare from a senior citizen sitting two seats away from them, but it’s Minghao that blushes red in chagrin.

“Dude, gross.” He’s grinning either way. 

Minghao is now learning that Wonwoo currently lives with two other people on campus but is looking to move out by the end of this year. 

“I’ve been thinking about it since summer vacation,” Wonwoo tells him. He pauses to take a sip of his iced lemon tea. “But I haven’t actually gotten anywhere because I’ve been busy juggling part-time jobs here and there and… you know how it is.” He shrugs and sighs. “So yeah. I dunno.”

“Oh.” There isn’t much Minghao can say to console him other than ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘Good luck with that’. And he doesn’t want to do that, because he hates when other people do that. 

His thoughts go straight to one thing. 

He’s going _are you serious_ and _it’ll be fine_ in his head at the same time. Seungkwan is going to be so excited. Or mad. Or both. Or mad first, and then really excited.

“You could move in with me?” 

Wonwoo looks up at him, surprised.

“I live ten minutes away from here with my friend Seungkwan,” he continues. “He’s a first year too.” He scratches his head. “I just realised we don’t actually have an extra room, but we have a nice couch. It’s probably a downgrade, but… it’s an option?” 

Wonwoo blinks. “You’d… really?” 

“Yeah, totally. Why not? You need a place, I’ve got a place…” Minghao shrugs. “And you don’t look like you’re gonna, like… steal all our money and food and make a run for it.” 

“Oh my, no, what an absurd idea,” Wonwoo deadpans, and Minghao rolls his eyes. Wonwoo is silent for a few seconds, mulling it over. His fingernails begin to tinkle against his glass, and just as Minghao’s beginning to think that it was stupid of himself to ever suggest such a preposterous thing, Wonwoo stops. And looks at him. And says, “Sure.”

“Yeah?” Minghao says. “You don’t mind the couch thing?” 

“Nope. I’ve never lived on anyone else’s couch, but…”

Minghao smiles. “First time for everything?”

Wonwoo brightens. “Exactly.” He thinks, again, for a moment. “I’ll probably start packing right away, and then move in as soon as possible. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah, no, completely fine. Anything I can help out with?” Minghao wonders if he’s just as nervous or excited.

“I think I’ll be fine for now, but I’ll ring you up if I need anything,” Wonwoo says. Minghao smiles. Wonwoo blinks and looks down at the skinny flower vase in the center of the table, clearing his throat. “This, um, will probably be temporary,” he says. “I’m not gonna overstay my welcome.” 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Minghao says. “Honestly, though, you can stay for as long as you need.”

Wonwoo’s gaze trails back up to Minghao. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” 

  


  


“This’d make the greatest first-meeting story ever, holy _shit_ ,” Seungkwan whispers excitedly, then checks over his shoulder to make sure Wonwoo isn’t within earshot.

“The greatest _what_ story?” Minghao asks, grunting as he picks up a cardboard box labelled “BOOKS” in his arms. Damn, that’s a lot of books. He isn’t sure there’s enough space on the coffee table for all of them to be laid out. Wonwoo might have to keep most in the box. 

“First-meeting story!” Seungkwan repeats, nudging a much lighter cardboard box labelled TOILET PAPER along the ground with his leg. “Like, how your husband or girlfriend or whatever first met and everything! Imagine telling your grandchildren _this_.” 

“I’m not gonna… what are you _talking_ about?”

“I’m talking about how you got Cute Ubereats Guy to _move in_ with youafter, like, what, _five_ hours of conversation _total_? Dude!”

Minghao sets the box down onto the floor near the couch, shooting Seungkwan a look as he walks past him to get the other boxes. “He’s not staying here forever. Don’t make it weird.”

“It’s _not_ weird!” Seungkwan cries. “It’s _cute_!” 

Minghao feels himself blush when he makes eye contact with Wonwoo, who’s straightening up from pushing yet another cardboard box through the door, and hopes that he doesn’t hear that. 

“Tired?” he asks.

“Tired,” Wonwoo breathes.

“That’s why I’m here,” Minghao says, picking a box up. “C’mon, up you get, those are all your stuff.”

“‘Kay, Dad,” Wonwoo mumbles, and picks up a box. 

The hallway isn’t wide enough for the two of them to walk side by side comfortably, so Wonwoo trails behind him. 

“Thanks again,” Wonwoo says. “For, like, everything.”

“No worries,” Minghao says. “For, like, anything.”

“That doesn’t really make sense but I’ll accept it.”

“Great, a killjoy. I’m kinda regretting this.”

“I have a box and I will use the box to hurt you.”

“Oh, I’m terrified.”

“You should be.”

They keep moving boxes like that until all of them have been transported. Seungkwan is sitting on top of the one labelled BOOKS, texting away on his phone. Wonwoo is admiring the landscape (and taking a much-needed rest) and Minghao sidles up against him. He smells like the same laundry detergent he and Seungkwan use. 

“How did you end up here from just being my Ubereats guy?” Minghao wants to ask, but doesn’t. Wonwoo seems content, and he is, too, so he leaves it, and lands a hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder like they’ve known each other for more than just five hours of conversation total. “It looks like a storage room now,” he says instead.

Wonwoo glances at him, then back at the view. “How weird is it that I went from being your Ubereats guy to your housemate?” 

Minghao lets out a quiet laugh. His chest feels so light. “Not a bad kind of weird, I hope.”

“No,” Wonwoo says, and Minghao can see a faint smile on his lips. “Not at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> my wonhao-shaped fingers


End file.
